Work Text:
Zuko’s new job was going to kill him. His old job had been boring, and his manager had been a grade A asshole, but at least it was labour intensive, so his mind didn’t have time to dwell. At least he had had contact with a handful of customers a day who didn’t hate his guts.
“It’s just your probation period,” Azula told him, again, throwing her feet onto his coffee table, again. He didn’t have a lot of nice things in his apartment, and the coffee table didn’t make the top five, but he gently removed her feet anyway. “You don’t trust me to get my darling brother a decent job?”
He didn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.
“When you sent me for the interview, no one mentioned a call centre—”
Feet back on the table. “Not a call centre.”
“No one mentioned a customer care line at any point.”
“So quit.”
Zuko could not afford to quit. Unlike Azula, he didn’t have their father’s financial backing, and the tea house wasn’t doing so well lately. Unlike Azula, he didn’t put his feet on the coffee table because he didn’t have another one waiting in an online shopping cart.
“If you had a degree, I could find you a better job.”
This was an old argument. Zuko looked at her, and he didn’t even have to say the words.
She took her feet off the table. “Degrees cost money, Azula. Boo hoo. You could have taken out a loan, or something. I don’t know, I’m not a banker.”
“Thank god for that.”
Zuko was not made for working in a call centre, but nowhere else seemed to be hiring. If he had to hear Ty Lee make one more bright comment about his best feature being his voice, anyway, he was going to scream.
The lights were on in Uncle’s apartment when Zuko opened the door, which was odd, because Uncle was almost certainly filling his weekly appointment at the bath house right now. Zuko swapped his slides for the slippers Uncle left out except—they weren’t there. His slippers were not there.
In just his socks, armed with an umbrella from the stand beside the shoe rack, he edged into the apartment.
The intruder was in the kitchen. Zuko raised his umbrella, ready to strike, and called out, “Hello?”
The man in the kitchen was beating eggs, and did not stop to turn around, but he did call out a cheerful, “Okaeri!” that stopped Zuko dead.
Dumbly, belatedly, he said, “Tadaima?”
“Zukkun!” Finally, the man put down his eggs and turned to face Zuko. “What took you so long?”
“Lu Ten?”
Zuko had not properly spoken Japanese with anyone since he’d left his father’s house, so it took him a minute to process when his cousin launched into an account of his trip from Nagoya, and everything that had gone wrong during transit.
“…never thought I was going to get here,” he was saying, but came to a halt when he noticed the stricken look on Zuko’s face. “Too fast?”
Zuko nodded, heat rising in his face.
“Don’t even sweat it. You’ll get used to it in no time. Which reminds me,” he said, in a way that suggested he’d already been thinking about it, and thinking about it a lot, “I wanted to talk to you before dad gets home – wash up and I’ll finish cooking.”
When they were seated at the table in the living room, a full meal with sides and soups like Zuko hadn’t had in a very long time laid in front of them, when they had both acknowledged the meal and started eating, Lu Ten said, “I’ve been thinking, and I think you should go home.”
Zuko was struck with panic, choked on his rice. “What?”
“Oh god! No, not your father’s house. Japan! How long has it been?”
Zuko took a sip of tea and tried to steady his heartbeat. “Seven years,” he said, quietly.
“Seven years!” Lu Ten swore. “Come home! To visit. Or, if you want, to work. With me.”
“Work? In Japan?”
“Mm. And study, if you want. Think about it.”
Zuko chose not to think about it. Time warped in front of him, a life playing out, studiously ignored. “I don’t… I couldn’t. My whole life is here.”
The look Lu Ten gave him was measured. Zuko felt like a tiny child again, sitting on a mat in the sun in the front room of his ancestral home, being taught to play Go while the adults laughed and argued. He was not good at Go, but Lu Ten had never stopped trying to teach him. In Japanese, his cousin asked, “Is it?”
Some life. “There’s Uncle. Azula.” He faltered. Work? He wanted to say it. He wanted to say…
“I think they’ve been away too long too, for the record. Dad’s always been stubborn, but it’d do him good to visit a proper shrine, get some mountain air. In my opinion. Just say you’ll think about it.”
Zuko did not say he’d think about it, and he was saved from being pressed by the sound of the front door clicking open.
A soft tadaima floated down the hall to meet them, and Zuko stood at once.
“Uncle!” he called, moving towards the hall. “Okaerinasai.”
He found Iroh sitting on the bench part of the shoe rack unbuckling his sandals. “Ah, Zuko. I take it you found my little surprise. Have you eaten?”
“We’re still eating. I’ll set you a place.”
Lu Ten didn’t say anything else about the matter through the end of the meal, through standing shoulder to shoulder doing the dishes, through three games of koi-koi. Lu Ten didn’t say anything when they gathered in the hall, didn’t say anything as he clapped Zuko on the back, didn’t say anything as he and Uncle crowded in the doorway to watch Zuko walk to the bus stop.
Zuko was resolute that he was not going to think about it.
He could not stop thinking about it. He could not stop thinking about everything he had to lose. He could not stop thinking about a teenage relationship that had imploded in on itself. He had hope, he realised slowly, that it would un-implode, somehow, and this hope was threatened hugely by his cousin’s offer. He had an idea that if he ever went home to Japan, he would never come back to this, the scene of all his crimes.
He met Katara at the café between her dad’s house and their high school. It was one of their three regular meeting spots, though it was the only one Zuko never suggested himself. He never came over this side of town if he could help it, because, well.
He had seen Sokka a handful of times since they graduated.
The first was when Zuko was working at the boba shop on the far side of town, and Sokka had come in to pick up an order someone else had called in. “I’m in a rush,” he’d said. “I’ll call you later.” He had not called Zuko later.
The fourth time, they stood on opposite sides of the street at the Market Street bus stop, and they waved at each other just before Zuko’s bus pulled up. As he settled down into a window seat, he watched Sokka mime a phone call, and mouth “I’ll call you later.” He had not called Zuko later.
The last time, and this was fairly recently, maybe six or so months ago, they stood next to each other in line for a taxi. Zuko had been on the phone with Azula, and it was a phone call he dare not hang up, but Sokka had squeezed his shoulder and smiled, and Zuko’s heart had stuttered, and then he watched Sokka slip into a taxi and slip away yet again. Sokka hadn’t said he’d call later, and finally he had a promise on which to follow through. He had not called Zuko later.
Zuko was okay with this. He’d been hung up on Sokka for a long time before they’d started kissing and fumbling about. He knew what it felt like and was at home in the feeling. Sokka had tried it out and it hadn’t worked for him – it stung (a lot), but Zuko couldn’t be mad about it. He couldn’t force anyone to love him. He couldn’t force Sokka to love him.
He couldn’t even force Sokka to call him.
The worst part of it was that he missed Sokka. Not Sokka, his boyfriend, but Sokka, his best friend. It was exactly what Sokka had worried about, he knew, why Sokka had been so hesitant in the first place. Zuko hadn’t even thought about it at the time – he was so overwhelmed by the idea that Sokka actually liked him.
He was haunted by all the mistakes he had made in his life.
Life went on:
He went to work, he came home. He called his sister, he started watching the Japanese News. He had tea with Uncle, played and lost games. He met with Katara and Aang, and he moped and felt sorry for himself.
Life went on.
“Earth to Zuko?”
“Huh?”
Katara drew her hand back from where she’d rapped next to Zuko’s plate. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just kind of a lot going on, I guess.”
“Anything you can tell me?”
“Maybe. Yes. I hate my job.”
“I’m not surprised. Why do you work in a call centre?”
“It’s not a call centre. Technically.”
“Do you want me to help you look for a new job?”
Zuko sighed. “No, it’s okay. It pays well.”
Katara laughed. “Sure. But if it gets too much, you can always go live with Aang. Or me – we’ve got a spare…” She trailed off.
Zuko grimaced. He was fine he was fine he was fine
He would not be fine if he ended up sleeping in Sokka’s childhood bedroom. It had been five years since the last time he’d slept there, and he’d never, ever slept there alone. The idea of that felt like he’d been sucked into a vacuum – there was no air anywhere to be found.
“You can live with Aang,” Katara said again, firm. “Or – or your uncle, surely. You have a net, Zuko. You have us.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s fine, Katara. I’m just tired. How are your classes?”
Katara pursed her lips, but let it go. “Thrilling, and I’m not even joking. I’m finally getting to do some real hands-on study, it’s incredible. They spent two years thinning the pack with theory, and it’s like I’m finally getting rewarded for sticking it out. I love it.”
Zuko took her hand. “Congratulations. Seriously.”
She smiled brightly, and that was that.
Life went on.
The phone trilled; his handset flashed. He answered the call and tried to explain an error to a customer who didn’t care for an explanation.
The phone trilled; his handset flashed. He answered the call and let the customer rant and rant and rant.
The phone trilled; his handset flashed.
“Hi, you’ve reached the customer care line, how can I help you today?”
“I have a question about a charge on my account,” said the caller. Civil. Zuko didn’t let his guard down. People could devolve zero to a hundred in six seconds.
“Yeah, of course. Let me verify your account details and we can have a look at it. Can you tell me your account number?”
The man recited his eight digit number, and Zuko dutifully typed it in.
“Perfect, so I’ll just get you to confirm your name and date of…”
“First name’s Hakoda. Surname’s…”
Zuko wasn’t listening. His ears were ringing so loudly he thought it was a wonder Jin sitting across from him couldn’t hear it too. She caught his eye and frowned. He shook his head.
“Hello? Hello?”
“I’m so sorry,” Zuko managed, finally, choked out, “Mr – uh, Hakoda, sir, um, I’m…”
“Are you okay, son?”
Son.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can help you today. I’m transferring you to one of my colleagues who will be better suited. Have a nice day.”
He ripped his headset off and pushed himself out of his chair, stumbled to the fire exit and collapsed there, trying to remember how to breathe. Eventually, minutes or hours or years later, the door opened, and Jin joined him.
“The commandant is pretty pissed,” she said. “Are you alright?”
Zuko nodded. It was a lie.
“The customer was really nice to me – did he say something to you?”
Zuko shook his head. It was a lie.
“He asked me if you were okay.”
Son.
“What did you say?”
“I said I wasn’t sure, but that I would check afterwards.” She looked at him, hard and clear. Found something lacking. “We worked out the charges were made by his son. At the end he said: ‘tell the other guy it’s okay, tell him I’m not mad, and that I hope he’s well again soon.’ Isn’t that nice?”
Zuko was crying, now, and Jin was not shocked.
“I used to know that man,” he said, and it was all he said. He did not say he was very kind to me. He did not say he did more for me than my own father ever did. He did not say he saved my life. This was all the past, and Zuko could not stay afloat now if he tried to swim back for it.
He did not say I used to know his son.
Life went on.
Zuko woke to the sound of his own panicked breathing. His heartbeat was racing, crashing through his veins, breaking on the shore. He lay there, trying to remember the nightmare he’d been having, had he been having a nightmare?
The screen door rattled as something bashed against it, and Zuko’s breath hitched again, involuntary.
“Zuko!”
It was a croak, quiet and broken. Zuko didn’t rise from his bed, though his instincts were screaming at him to leap up and run to the door. The screen door shook again. Slowly, he drew his sheets aside, sat up, felt around with his feet for his slippers. He didn’t turn on a light, just shuffled to the front of the unit in the dark. He didn’t want to have this conversation anywhere his expressions could be read.
He opened the door, and there, in a puddle on his doormat, was Sokka.
Sokka didn’t notice straight away. It wasn’t until he pulled himself up to bang on the door again and found Zuko staring down at him that his face split into a grin.
Zuko did not open the screen door. “What?”
Sokka faltered for a second, just a second. “Come for a drive.”
“No.”
“Zuko?”
Zuko had already made the decision to step back and close the door on him, but something was keeping him from acting on it. “Did you drive here?”
Sokka blinked a few times, and shrugged.
Zuko had been annoyed, but now he was mad. “Sokka, listen to me very carefully. Did you drive drunk?”
Sokka swallowed hard. He gazed up at Zuko with his horribly sad eyes, and Zuko was. Not. Going. To. Break.
“I’m calling the… I’m calling your dad.” He was going to throw up.
“No,” Sokka said, suddenly, lurching to his feet. “No, I didn’t drive. I didn’t drive.”
Relief washed over Zuko, and it was almost palpable. But Sokka’s keys were in his hand. “Why are you holding your keys?”
“I thought…” Sokka shook his head, leaned his forehead against the screen. “I thought I had a key.”
“You don’t. Katara gave it back to me.”
The hurt look was back on Sokka’s face. “Oh.”
“Do you even know how long it’s been since you tried to use your key? You didn’t even notice it was gone. You’re not going to make me feel bad about this. Go home.”
“But it’s too far,” Sokka whined.
“It’s fifteen minutes in a taxi.”
“It’s too far. Let me come in.”
“No.”
He shut the door, and he didn’t feel bad about it. Katara’s voice in his head reminded him: put yourself first. Katara, there was an idea.
He didn’t check the time before he rang her.
“Zuko? Is everything okay?”
“Your brother’s at my door.”
Katara was silent for so long Zuko thought she’d hung up on him. He pulled the phone away from his ear, but the call was still connected. He grimaced as he noticed it was past two. Finally, Katara said, “Sokka’s in town?”
Zuko let that turn over in his mind. “What do you mean, in town?”
“As in he’s not in Chicago? Or are you in Chicago?”
“Sokka… lives in…?”
Katara was silent again. Zuko could hear Aang talking softly. “What do you want me to do right now?”
“I don’t know,” Zuko said. He wanted her to magically appear and take him away in the next thirty seconds, but that wasn’t going to happen, even if she could magically appear. “I want you to tell me what to do about it. Do I send him to Aang’s place? To your dad’s?”
“Is he drunk?”
“Yeah.”
At half volume, “Yeah, he’s at Zuko’s, apparently. Can you go get him? Take Appa in case he’s in one of his moods.” Then, “I’m sorry, Zuko. I don’t think he’s in a very good place right now. Aang’s on his way.”
Zuko sighed. Not in a very good place. And I am? he thought.
He heard Aang arrive, heard him wake Sokka and prod him back to his van.
Afterwards, Aang knocked quietly on the door, and Zuko let him in. He didn’t come all the way in, didn’t want to bother taking his shoes off before getting back in the car, but he pulled Zuko into a hug all the same. “You good?” he asked, muffled on Zuko’s bad side.
“Yeah,” Zuko lied.
“Are you sure?”
Zuko bit his lip. “If I went away. For a while. Could I leave some stuff at your place?”
“Sure! What kind of stuff? Your kotatsu? Please say your kotatsu, I want one so badly but Katara says it’s a waste of money to buy one—” He caught himself. Sobered. “Are you going away?”
“Um. Yeah, I think I am.”
Because it hurt. It hurt to know Sokka could turn up on his doorstep any time, but Zuko couldn’t do the same. Chicago was a big city.
He opened LINE and found his conversation with Lu Ten still open. Hey man, give me a ring when you’ve had a think about it. Zuko pressed call.
“Hey,” Lu Ten said, “what’s up?” Zuko heard him say it’s my little brother, and his stomach squirmed pleasantly. Little brother.
“I’ll do it.”
“Shit, man, really? Nice! Listen, I gotta go drink my coworkers under the table, but I’ll ring you in the morning from the office.”
Chicago, Nagoya, whatever.
Life went on.